Fire, Peaches and Plums

Woke early this morning after having fallen asleep just after returning home from a busy day tracking fires at work.

A magnificent storm rolled through the valley late Friday. Fingers of flashing electricity touched down in forest and field.

The air is thick with smoke and the tiniest particles of ash. I’m keeping the doors closed. My grandmother’s cat is taking it well. He doesn’t like being deprived of his morning sprawl in front of the screen door. I tried to explain.

Now, on to what has moved me to begin writing this morning.

There is this girl at work. I say girl because I’m nearly twice her age but she’s a woman. I liked her instantly. She’s smart and sassy and seems to be free of the “girly” curse.

But let me explain:

It wasn’t until fairly recently that I recognized there was a community of bloggers related by past or present association with Record Searchlight.

I have been drawn, while browsing the blog rolls, to a blog named Peaches and Plums. Everything about it is beautiful and it’s so well written! As I read more I realized it is packed with entries created by a very strong, complex person with a great sense of humor.

I am a biography addict. When reading my first impulse is to find out the identity of the writer. I was intrigued. I could tell this person was an RSer but little other identifying info was apparent. I read on.

I could have asked someone about peaches and plums. I’m sure there are many people at the RS who know but I don’t engage much on a social level with co-workers.

I crave privacy but can fluctuate, when nervous, to blithering and chattering to people in the most innane way. I usually leave the impression that I am mildly retarded.

Finally, today, way back in the archives, there was a picture. A really cute picture of this smart sassy woman in the company of a smart sassy five year old.

Had I discovered the author of Peaches and Plums? I couldn’t be sure. I kept reading. Then I found the mention of a name. Jill.

My first impulse, and we Aries are impulsive, was to write her a mash note. “OMG, you are, like, so talented and like, totally brilliant and cool and . . . blither, blither, blither. OC frothing and gushing.

All my instincts about Jill were confirmed and then some. What a gal.

Now I must go to work fully in awe of her writing talent and possessed of a new, sort of unsettling awareness of the breadth of her heart and mind.

I’ve always been like this. I love the mojo that sparks between souls. Even though I’m too shy to engage much, I have a child’s heart and I love people.

It’s been made more comfortable these days by the remove. I find you creating yourself on a page. You find me there showing you strange paintings and photos. I’m chattering earnestly, trying to connect the confetti-storm of minutiae that floats through my head.